


never the same love twice

by lettersinpetals



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Falling In Love, Fluff, Getting Together, Healing, Heartbreak, M/M, Pining, Sad with a Happy Ending, this is just a story about missed chances and second chances
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:27:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28770075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettersinpetals/pseuds/lettersinpetals
Summary: Akaashi Keiji is heartbroken and distressed in an airport in Paris when Miya Osamu finds him. Together, they take a journey towards healing and new beginnings.(Or: The OsaAka “That Thing Called Tadhana” AU that nobody asked me for.)
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji/Miya Osamu
Comments: 52
Kudos: 331





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is (probably heavily) based on the Filipino film “That Thing Called Tadhana” though I also combined it with an old outline I had for osaaka, so now it’s just this mess.
> 
> In this AU, Akaashi and Osaku don’t meet (again) at the MSBY Black Jackals vs Schweiden Adlers game like they did in the manga. Here they’re just meeting again for the first time since high school (outside of glimpsing each other on games, maybe). It’s my first time writing osaaka for real, I hope I did them justice.

Akaashi Keiji was having a bad day.

He could barely see through his tears as he ripped the newly-bought lace underwear from his suitcase and dumped it in the trash. He knew he must look ridiculous, dishevelled and on his knees on a likely filthy floor, but he couldn’t even care less.

Dragging his luggage to the check-in counter, he asked the woman in line if he could go ahead. Wide-eyed, she agreed hastily — confirming he must look like a nightmare — so he stomped over and, with a go-signal from the attendant, dumped his suitcase on the weighing scale.

“Sorry,” the lady behind the counter said apologetically, voice thick with a French accent. “Still too heavy.”

With a furious sob, he tugged at his suitcase and returned to the trash can he’d been slumped beside earlier. He went through the irritating process of unlocking his suitcase again, and dumped a trenchcoat into the garbage.

“Fukurodani’s setter?”

It was the name of his old high school and team position that had his head snapping up. He didn’t recognize the voice, but he could easily place the face.

After all, he’d just seen his twin in the most heartbreaking moment of his entire life.

“Myaa-sam?”

Miya Osamu blinked at him. “Just Osamu, please. Are you...alright?”

It was then he realized he was still on the ground, his clothes strewn in a mess around him. Feeling defensive, he snapped, “I’m fine.”

“I have space in my suitcase.”

“Thanks, but no thanks.” To prove it, Keiji dug up a pair of jeans and tossed it in the trash can.

The jeans were plucked up the moment it landed, and a second later, so was the trenchcoat. “These look expensive. It would be a waste to just toss them away like that.”

Keiji tried to grab at them. “Give them back—”

Osamu held the pieces of clothing out of his reach. “I have lots of space in my suitcase. You know who I am, I won’t be stealing these or anything. Now stop being unreasonable and let me help you, Akaashi-kun.”

 _Huh, he really does remember me_ , he thought.

Keiji wiped at his cheeks, nudging his glasses up along the way. Taking a deep breath, he staggered up, feeling somewhat humbled. “Thanks,” he murmured.

Osamu smiled at him warmly. “No problem. Hand me all the stuff that doesn't fit in your bags.”

They made quick work of transferring some of Keiji’s clothes into Osamu’s suitcase. To his utter shame, Osamu leaned over the trash can and picked up his discarded underwear.

“And these?”

Keiji blushed violently. “Just throw those away.”

“But they’re brand new.” Osamu studied the items shamelessly. “Didn’t take you for a lingerie kind of guy, Akaashi-kun.”

“I’m not,” he said quickly. How was he supposed to tell Osamu that he wasn’t himself? He’d just had his heart broken and everything was going wrong; he was hardly at his best. This was so mortifying.

“Aren’t you?” Gray eyes stared at him intently, and the prickling gaze sent a jolt down his spine.

He’d forgotten just how terrifying the Miya twins could be. Osamu seemed a lot warmer and kinder than how he used to be in high school, but people don’t really change, do they?

Before he could answer, Osamu stashed the underwear in his suitcase and zipped it up. “C’mon, let’s go.”

This time, his baggage was cleared with no problem. He and Osamu checked in together, and they learned that they were actually seated beside each other in the plane.

“Huh,” Osamu smiled at him. “It must be fate.”

“I don’t believe in fate,” Keiji said.

Osamu shrugged. “Me, too. I mean, not really. It’s just nice to think about sometimes, kinda comforting, right?”

“No.”

“Well, jeez. Alright, then.”

It was a grueling 11-hour flight back to Tokyo, the city he was born in and chose to stay in. He dreaded going home. In an effort not to think about it, he busied himself by watching a film on the plane.

He found an old favorite, an American film titled "My Best Friend's Wedding." It was a romantic comedy; watching it seemed like a good idea. Just something to lighten his mood.

Near the end of it, he was crying as he recited the lines. 

" _I love you_ ," he sobbed, digging up the quotes imprinted in his head. " _I've loved you for nine years_..."

"Wow," Osamu said from beside him. They were flying economy so he was _right_ beside him. Keiji decided his heartbreak took priority over his normally strict manners and shame. He was raised better than this, he was. He just didn’t care right now.

" _Choose me_ ," Keiji continued, ignoring his seatmate. " _Marry me. Let me make you happy_."

"Excuse me, do you need some tissues?" a woman's voice asked, and he looked up to find a stewardess offering him a pack of Kleenex.

Keiji waved his hand, saying, “Oh, no, no, I don’t need tissues.”

“You need tissues,” Osamu said. The woman was nearly shoving the pack into his face.

In his irritation, he slipped back into Japanese. “I don’t need tissues.” He switched back to English, glaring at the stewardess. "I don't need tissues, please stop judging me!"

“Sorry, sir,” she said. She retracted her hand, only to be halted by Osamu.

"I'll take that, miss."

Keiji decided to let it go.

By the time the movie ended, he had piles of balled up tissues on his lap.

“That was a nice movie,” he said as he dabbed at his eyes, lifting his frames out of the way. “The storytelling was great. Very realistic.”

Osamu gave him a look that was entirely too shrewd and said nothing.

“I’m exhausted,” Keiji sighed. He was all cried out, at least for now. But it was still a long flight back home. “I’m going to sleep.”

“Alright.”

“Alright.”

\--

Keiji checked his watch, fidgeting as he waited for his luggage to come around. He and Osamu were standing by the carousel in tense silence.

Finally remembering his manners, he politely asked, “So, how come you didn’t stay with Atsumu? In Paris.”

“I’m his twin, not his babysitter.” Osamu slid him a sideways glance. “Tournament’s over, they won — they can celebrate on their own, I have a business to run.”

“Ah.” Right, Onigiri Miya, which just so happened to sell Keiji’s favorite onigiri. He’d drop by the shop whenever he visited Osaka, but for some reason, he never saw Osamu there, only his staff. “How’s that going?”

“Good. Thinking of opening a branch in Tokyo.”

That lifted his mood. He looked up at Osamu wide-eyed. “Really?”

“Uh-huh. Might take a while, though.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Does that mean you’ll just be here in Tokyo?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I dunno. Kinda looks like you need a change.”

Keiji scowled. “That’s none of your business.” He wouldn’t admit that change sounded very good right now. That it's been sounding very good for a while.

“I don’t mean to offend.”

Right then, suitcases started to appear on the carousel belt, and they plunged back into tense silence.

When they reached the elevator that led to the train platform, armed with their luggage, Keiji looked at Osamu. “I don’t really feel like going home yet,” he admitted. “Do you?”

\--

Thus started the strangest day of Akaashi Keiji’s life. He wouldn’t call himself impulsive — no, he was careful, an overthinker, barely able to make a decision for himself without doubting it a hundred times.

And he wasn’t loud either, he thought, as he belted out the lyrics to a sad song, fingers curled over a microphone. But he was drunk and exhausted, so he decided to cut himself some slack.

Abandoning the karaoke, he flopped down beside Osamu and started crying on his shoulder.

Osamu didn’t say anything. Just pried the microphone from Keiji’s fingers and picked up where he left off.

Keiji had known even back when they were sixteen-year-olds that Osamu was more laid-back and easy-going than his firecracker of a twin, but there’d been a hunger in his eyes that told him he was just as dangerous.

There was none of that danger now. Keiji was learning that Osamu was a lot more patient and indulgent than he ever thought he could be.

That was probably why, much later, he sat down on the sidewalk outside and said, “Nine years. That’s how long I’ve loved Bokuto Koutarou.”

From the corner of his eye, he watched Osamu sit down beside him. Winter had just begun so the night was cold, and Shinjuku was unnaturally quiet, given the hour.

And then Osamu said, “I know.”

He whipped his head to stare at him. “You _know_?”

“I mean, I saw you ogling him every time we crossed paths back then. And you forget he’s teammates with Atsumu, and Atsumu...sees things he has no business seeing. Plus he’s a huge gossip.”

“Was I that obvious?”

“Well — yes.”

“Does _everyone_ know?” The thought had tears forming in his eyes, the pain in his heart intensifying. He’d been making an idiot of himself all these years.

“I didn’t say that,” Osamu said hastily. “Maybe I’m just observant, I dunno.”

Keiji sniffled, recalling two of his oldest friends. “Kenma knew. Kuroo knew. They told me long ago to confess, but I couldn’t do it. I was too afraid. I never felt like I could catch up to him — you’ve seen him, you know what he’s like.”

“Unfortunately, I do.”

“Funny, I told myself when I graduated that I’d do it then. He attended my graduation ceremony, you know? We’re best friends, of course he did. He was already a professional volleyball player then, but he still made time for silly old me. I don’t know why I didn’t go through with it, I guess I told myself I’d have more time to work up to it, to get myself ready for him, just — have more _time_. Then I looked up one day and it’s been nine years and I’m sick of my job and tired of life and unhappy because he’s not there.”

Keiji stopped to breathe, letting the silence settle around them.

“I told myself it was time for a change. I have to do _something_ for myself, right? And this was years overdue already. I timed it perfectly — the Jackals had a tournament in Paris, and my boss granted me a month-long leave — a sabbatical, he called it, because he said I looked like a walking corpse. I told Koutarou I was attending the games, and he was ecstatic. I couldn’t help but hope. I packed too much clothes, booked my tickets, bought lingerie,” he paused to sniffle, “and told myself, ‘ _no more going back now_.’”

“What happened?” Osamu sounded apprehensive now, as if realizing shit really went down in Paris.

“Well. The Jackals won, as you know. I thought the stars had finally aligned. Something good was finally happening — all the signs were pointing to Koutarou. We were in Paris, the _city of love_. They’d just won, and I was there with him. I was happy, excited. Wore my stupid new underwear, went over to his room. But then — then in the hallway — by the door —”

“Okay, _breathe_ , Akaashi-kun—”

“I saw him and Atsumu kissing,” he wailed.

“Wait, _what_?” Osamu looked flummoxed. “ _No way_. Impossible.”

Keiji glared at him, cheeks red and eyes wet. “I saw it with my own eyes.”

Osamu rubbed his forehead. “No, listen. Atsumu’s in love with Sakusa. Had a thing for him since...god, I don’t even know. The U19 thing, I think.”

“Regardless,” he said stubbornly, “They were kissing. And the worst part — Koutarou saw me and just said, ‘Hi Keiji!’ Like he didn’t care he just broke my heart.”

“Okay, yeah, that’s shitty.”

Keiji was sobbing now. “He doesn’t love me like that, never loved me like that. I’m just his best friend. He’s more willing to kiss _Atsumu_ than me.”

“Yikes.”

“I rescheduled my flight — had to pay an unholy amount of money for it — so I was out of there the next morning. I just left him. He’s probably trying to call, but...I haven’t turned my phone back on. I can’t face him yet, I just can’t.”

“That’s fine, Akaashi-kun.”

Keiji looked up at him. “Is it?”

“Of course. Take your time. He’s your best friend, he’ll understand.”

He started sobbing again at ‘ _best friend_.’ The weight of what just happened was settling in, and he thought with startling clarity, _‘I don’t want to be here.’_

Looking up at Osamu, he blurted out, “Let’s go to Kyoto.”

“ _Wha—_?”

Osamu wasn’t able to finish his question because Keiji bent over and vomited. All over Osamu’s shoes.

“Shit,” he distantly heard Osamu say.

And then Keiji knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is going to be dialogue heavy by the way.

The world was swaying when he woke up. He blinked blearily at the darkness outside the train windows, confused.

 _Train_?

He sat up, looking around. The shinkansen was dimly-lit, but it was no doubt a shinkansen. There were barely any people, from what he could see, and it was largely quiet aside from the occasional snores. Dread filling him, he turned his head to the side and met the gaze of Miya Osamu.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty,” he said.

Keiji gaped at him. “Where in the world are we going?”

“Kyoto, like you asked.”

“ _Kyoto_?” He racked his brain and vaguely remembered extending the invitation to Osamu...and puking on his shoes. Keiji glanced down to the ground in panic, noticing clean, seemingly brand new sneakers. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t worry about it. Got new ones before dragging you to the train station. You’re really light, by the way, you should gain some weight.”

Keiji truly had no idea what was going on. He had never done anything like this in his life before. “Are we really going to Kyoto?”

“Yup. Shop can wait.” Osamu handed him a bottle of water. “Rehydrate for now.”

He took the offering gratefully. “Thank you.”

“You seem much calmer.”

Keiji gulped down half the bottle and wiped his mouth. “I feel it. Although now I’m regretting my utter loss of control. I’m so sorry, Myaa-sam. For everything, starting from the airport. I wasn’t in my right mind.”

“Not gonna lie, I haven’t experienced such a strange series of events in quite a long time,” Osamu mused. “But don’t apologize. I feel like I finally got to know the real you. You always seemed like such a mystery, Akaashi-kun. It’s nice to know you’re also human.”

Mystery? _Him_? That was such a silly thing to say. He was the most boring person he’d ever met. And for _Miya Osamu_ to say that...it was simply ridiculous.

“There’s about a half hour left in this ride,” Osamu informed him. “Just chill for now. Wanna listen to some music?”

Keiji agreed and tucked the offered airpod into his left ear. Two songs later, he pulled it out again. “Koutarou liked that song.”

“Oh.” Osamu paused the music. “So we can’t listen to it, then?”

“No, we cannot,” he said firmly.

“Well, jeez, this is gonna be hard if you’re banning all the songs he liked.”

“We’ll use my playlist then.” Keiji pulled out his iPhone, thankfully still inside his coat pocket. Then he realized he was avoiding turning it back on and slipped it back inside. Reaching out for Osamu’s phone instead, he searched for his Spotify username, eyes lingering on his playlists. He showed the screen to Osamu. “I have a playlist of Koutarou’s favorite songs.”

Osamu studied it. “Sixty-one songs...that’s sixty-one songs you’ll never listen to again. Are you for real?”

“Listen. Starting now, I’m getting over Bokuto Koutarou. I would appreciate it if you were supportive.”

“I’m literally taking you to Kyoto on a whim, what part of all this is not being supportive?”

“Fine,” Keiji grumbled. Tapping on the playlist of his all time favorite songs, he sat back and listened to the beginnings of ‘Shyer’ by London Grammar.

“I like this,” Osamu said.

That made Keiji smile a little. “Me, too.”

“But I’m curious. If songs remind you of him, what else does?”

“Too much.”

Osamu sat up and faced him, looking inspired. His dark brown fringe flopped over the left side of his face, and Keiji thought, ‘ _That hair used to be gray.'_ He couldn’t help but notice Osamu’s chiseled face, broad shoulders, and nearly overwhelming presence — this was a man who took up space, comfortably instead of overwhelmingly. Miya Osamu, who just used to be some spiker from their rival school, all grown up. And he was...really something.

“...I have an idea,” Osamu was saying.

“Yes?”

“Let’s play a game. I’m going to say a word, and you have to tell me a memory you associate with that word in relation to Bokuto-kun.”

“That will be easy.” They were best friends for nine years after all. That was long enough for them to feel ridiculous about the _Bokuto-san_ s and the _‘Kaashi-kun_ s; long enough that Keiji’s mental notes about Koutarou could fill entire pages of books. It was easy to admit now that he might have been a little obsessed.

“Okay, then — rainbow.”

“The first one we saw together was one morning during a training camp in second year high school.”

“Red.”

“He said I looked good in that color once, so I bought a lot of red clothes. That was the color of the lingerie, in case you didn’t notice.”

Osamu coughed. “I noticed. Uh, bubble tea.”

“Koutarou choked on the pearls when we first tried it, so we said no more of that. I lied though. I really liked it, so I kept drinking it — I had to hide it from him, because he would surely pout.”

“Tickets.”

“Um...arcade games. With Kenma and Kuroo.”

“Shoes.”

He snorted. “Yours. Which I puked on a couple hours ago.” That was cheating, but Osamu didn’t look like he minded.

“And Kyoto?”

Keiji smiled. “Nothing. We’ve never gone there together. I’ve only been twice, and both were for work — didn’t really do a lot of exploring.”

“Was that why you wanted to go there?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t really thinking at the time.” Keiji settled back on his seat and watched the night. “It feels right.”

“Like fate?”

“There’s simply no such thing. If there were, don’t you think Koutarou and I would be together?”

Osamu let out a thoughtful hum. “I guess, yeah. You two make sense and you clearly care about each other.”

“Not the same way, though.” Keiji stared out the window for another long moment then turned back to Osamu. “Do you think it’s silly? Me being in love with someone for nine years?”

“Why would that be silly?”

“It’s just — all that time, and I got nothing out of it. And it’s going to take _more_ time getting over it. Isn’t that ridiculous? How do I even begin to get over it? How do I forget?”

"You can drink every night," Osamu suggested. "You can cry every day. You can sleep with anyone who's willing, go on blind date after blind date, or...you can find a new love."

“How’s the new love supposed to compare to one I’ve been clinging to for nine years?”

“You know that quote by F. Scott Fitzgerald? 'There are all kinds of love in this world, but never the same love twice.'”

“Huh.” Keiji stared at him. “You know Fitzgerald?”

“You think I’m just some volleyball dork turned chef turned shop owner? Outside of the shop I have lots of free time.” Osamu wagged his eyebrows at him. “I dabble.”

“You just saw it on the internet, didn’t you?”

“I saw it on the internet,” Osamu sheepishly agreed. “Dammit.”

Keiji laughed for what felt like the first time in years. “You’re rather funny, Myaa-sam.”

“Gee, thanks. I’m glad I amuse you.”

“You should be, otherwise I’m hopping on a shinkansen right back to Tokyo.”

“You can’t because this is the last train.” That meant it was past midnight, then.

A thought struck him. “Osamu-san, where are we staying?”

Osamu dangled his phone between two fingers. “Booked a ryokan before booking the train tickets. Good thing their reception is open ‘round the clock. Don’t worry about it.”

“Oh,” he sighed in relief. “Thank you. I’m exhausted.”

“I’m sure you are. I’m just glad you’re not drunk anymore.” Osamu paused. “One thing though…”

“What?” he asked nervously.

“Er, there was only one available room. It was too short a notice…”

“Oh.” Keiji mulled it over. “That’s fine, I’m sure they have more than one futon, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.”

It was all going to be fine. Definitely.

Probably.

\--

There _were_ two futons, but the room was so tiny that there was barely any space for a couple of tall, grown men.

It was a nice, cozy space, though. The room was sparse and clean, with polished wooden floorings and opaque glass windows. Keiji found himself unwinding despite everything, and after soaking in the bath, he was feeling loads better. Settled. Like he’d reached rock bottom, and he was getting comfortable being there.

He slipped into a clean pair of pajamas, thinking that his overpacking tendencies served him well in this instance. Even though his large suitcase took up an entire corner of the room.

As Osamu took his own bath, Keiji crawled into his futon tiredly.

What a crazy day, he thought. In the span of over 24 hours, he got his heart broken in Paris, randomly met an old acquaintance in the airport, got drunk and sang karaoke in a seedy Tokyo bar, and went on a spontaneous trip to Kyoto

 _This is the most adventure I’ve had in my adult life_ , he realized. _Maybe my whole life._

Too bad it had to happen while he was loaded down with heartache.

When Osamu slipped into the futon beside him, Keiji shifted his body to the side to face him, tucking his hands under one cheek. “Osamu-san —”

“Just Osamu, seriously.”

“Do you ever feel like you’re running out of time?”

Osamu turned to face him right back. “I just turned twenty-four. Aren’t you the same age as me?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Turning twenty-four in a couple months. I feel like I didn’t do anything in my life though.”

“We’re barely _starting_ our life. Why’re ya talking like it’s close to ending?”

“I feel so tired and old.”

Osamu seemed to find that amusing. “Sleep, then. It will all feel different in the morning.”

“Not sleepy.” His eyes were already slipping shut.

“Goodnight, Akaashi-kun.”

“If you insist on being called Osamu, you must call me Keiji,” he yawned. “Goodnight.”

\--

Wakefulness dawned bright and early. That was the curse of adulthood, he’d learned. No matter what day or circumstance, he always woke up at 5 a.m. Being in Paris for two weeks was torture, but luckily, he was used to being sleep-deprived and perpetually exhausted.

But it was a bit of relief, knowing that he didn’t have to do his pre-work rituals today. Because he was on _sabbatical_. He didn’t know that was a thing. If he was being honest with himself, though, he didn’t know vacations or even _breaks_ were a thing.

Twenty-three turning twenty-four was entirely too young to be this burned out.

 _Ah, well_ , he mused at the ceiling. _First step is to admit you have a problem._

Perhaps this was the road to recovery from all the things that went wrong in his life. Kyoto seemed like the perfect place for it. It wasn’t a new thought; the city had been calling to him since his first visit, and he’d been telling himself he’d return one day.

“Mornin’, sleeping beauty.”

Though he never could have imagined he’d be here with _Miya Osamu_ , of all people.

He let his eyes trail up a pair of long legs, a narrow waist, and a broad chest, until his gaze landed on a straight nose, thick eyebrows, and gray eyes. Osamu looked fresh-faced and ready for the day.

“Hi,” Keiji said.

“Would you maybe wanna get up? We might as well turn this into a proper trip, right?”

He was about to say ‘yes,’ but something must have really broken in him because he decided to be rebellious. “No.”

Osamu’s eyebrows flew up. “No?”

Keiji merely snuggled deeper under his blankets. “No. I have no work, I’m sleeping in.”

“But you’re already awake.”

“Then I'll simply go back to sleep.” To prove that he was serious, he shut his eyes.

Only to crack them open when he heard Osamu’s quiet laughter. “You know, Keiji-kun, there’s more to you than meets the eye.”

“I sure hope so.” Keiji chewed on his bottom lip then sat up suddenly. “Myaa-sam, am I ugly?”

“ _Huh_?”

“Am I ugly?” he repeated.

Osamu studiously stared at a wall, scratching his jaw. “Nah. You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re only saying that,” Keiji realized miserably. He could ask anyone, and they would all be too shy to agree that yes, he was ugly. Or plain, at the very least.

“ _No_. You really — you _really are_. Honest.”

“Then how come Koutarou never noticed me?”

With a sigh, Osamu folded his legs under him as he sat back down on his futon. “It’s too early for this, but I’ll bite. Keiji-kun, I know beauty is in the eye of the beholder and all that, but I am pretty sure anyone who beholds you finds you beautiful.”

That was a little hard to believe, but Osamu looked sincere. Keiji squinted at him suspiciously. “Are you only here with me because you think I’m beautiful?”

Osamu pursed his lips, which told Keiji all he needed to know. “Okay, look at it from my perspective. I see a familiar face in the airport and the face is unfairly good-looking, and it turns out the person who owns the face is heartbroken and hurting and in need of help. This person asks me to go with him to Kyoto. Could I say no? Could _you_ say no?”

“Yes, I could and I would,” Keiji admitted. “Even though I wouldn’t want to. It’s just a little too spontaneous for me.”

“Sometimes it’s worth it to step out of your comfort zone, Keiji-kun.”

“I guess that’s something I’ll have to learn.”

“You have time. You’re only twenty-three.”

“Turning twenty-four.”

“You’re _only_ twenty-three turning twenty-four.”

Keiji couldn’t help the smile. Osamu smiled back.

“You’re sitting up. Wanna go?”

Yes. Yes, he really did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay this will be 5 chapters and 10k words max. i think.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I invent stuff about Keiji's job. And project. Lots of projecting...

Kyoto was peaceful. It was a whole different world for a Tokyo boy like him, who was used to a sprawling, bustling metropolitan where days were fast and everyone was busy. Despite all the noise back home, it did make for a lonely life. He was close to his parents but they had their jobs, and in recent years, so did he.

He should probably call his mother.

Osamu sped ahead then turned to face him, walking backwards on the street with his hands tucked in his pocket. “So. First day of freedom. What do you wanna do?”

“Is it my first day of freedom?” Keiji thought the phrasing was rather odd.

“You just abandoned your life and decided to let go of a nine-year obsession. You’re in a strange city with a strange man. So yeah. It’s your first day of freedom.”

He dipped his head in a nod. “Nicely put.”  
  
“Is that the editor speaking?”

“Indeed.”

“I told you, I dabble.”

Keiji tightened his scarf around his neck, and Osamu tracked the movement.

“Red scarf,” Osamu pointed out. “Maybe you haven’t completely let go yet.”

“You’re making me nervous with the way you’re walking.” When Osamu settled to walk beside him normally, he added, “And it’s not that easy to get over it.”

“No, I suppose it’s not.”

“I can’t just wake up and decide one day not to feel a certain way anymore.”

“Hm.”

“It’s just that nine years feels like a long time, but like no time at all, you know?”

“I know.”

That caught Keiji’s attention. “Osamu-san, have you ever been in a relationship before?”

Osamu shook his head. “Nah. Dated around, sure, but relationships...never really had the time for that. Up until high school I was preoccupied with volleyball. And then I was preoccupied with culinary school, and then starting my business...didn’t really notice the time passing, if that makes sense.”

“It does.” He thought about his own job at the manga publishing company he’s worked at for two years now. It felt like it was only yesterday that he walked through the building’s entrance for his first day as a writer, and now he was an editor. The promotion was fast, but then so was the turnover. Not many could handle the pressure. “I can’t believe I’ve been working for two years. It flew by so fast, but I feel like I’ve aged ten years in that span of time.”

“If it helps, you aged really well.”

Keiji already figured that Osamu was a bit of a flirt. But his cheeks still heated up. 

“Would you tell me about your job?” Osamu continued.

“Well. I work as a manga editor.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah,” Keiji agreed. “I used to work in the literature department as a writer. It was my dream, and I achieved it but...nobody ever talked about what happens when you outgrow your dream and you’re propelled to different things. Bigger things, with bigger responsibilities.”

“That must be hard, going from writer to editor.”

“It was overcoming the fear and paranoia that was the hardest part, mostly. Took me months to loosen up and trust in my abilities. I always felt I wasn’t cut out for it, at first, that I wasn’t qualified for the job.”

“But they must have known you could handle it.”

“Yes, they did tell me that. But it’s not that easy to rid yourself of the feeling that you’re not good enough.”

“Is that why you work so hard? After the karaoke thing, you said you were sick of your job.”

Keiji nodded slowly. “I guess. I feel like I have to work twice as hard as everyone just so I could catch up. When I’m not working, I’m reading self-help books to improve myself.”

“Seriously?”

He lifted a shoulder. “Yes.”

“Well, no wonder you’re so burned out. You should learn to relax and rest every once in a while.”

“I _do_ know how.”

“How, then?”

Keiji paused. Breaks were usually forced upon him by Koutarou, who’d visit him in Tokyo every month, dragging him to this restaurant, or that park. But he didn’t want to admit it.

“Bokuto-kun again? You have that face.”

Glowering at Osamu, he denied, “I don’t have a _face_.”

“You have an ‘ _I’m thinking about Bokuto again_ ’ face.”

“Maybe that’s why he never noticed, I always wore the same face around him.”

A pause. Then they both burst into giggles.

When he collected himself, Osamu said, “I love the dude, but you gotta admit. He’s a bit — dense.”

Keiji felt a pressing sadness on his chest remembering all the times Koutarou just seemed to know that he was in a bad mood, or if he was overthinking again, or if he hadn’t been sleeping again. “Not when it comes to me. Not always. He was a good...friend.”

“Man, this is making me miserable, just thinking about it.”

“Sorry.”

Osamu waved him off. Then he stopped in his tracks. “So, where are we?”

“What?” Keiji stopped, too. “I have no idea, I was just walking. I was under the impression that you had a destination in mind.”

Osamu rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, no. I wasn’t really thinking. Let me search for something real quick.”

\--

They opted to have breakfast first. Struck with the realization that he was extremely hungry and that he deserved good food after the rough couple days, Keiji went a little wild ordering.

Osamu watched him with wide eyes as he stuffed a forkful of fluffy pancakes into his mouth. “Man, you could eat.”

“Is that a problem,” he asked around a mouthful.

“Absolutely not. Chef, remember? I’m just a bit surprised by the...” Osamu gestured vaguely.

Keiji swallowed his food and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “I am slowly reaching the point where I don’t care. My best friend doesn’t love me, my work isn’t looking for me, I’m far from home... I can be everything I can’t normally be and I’ll eat like a pig if I want.” He narrowed his eyes at Osamu. “Are you judging me?”

“No,” Osamu said quickly. “No judging. By all means, eat like a pig as much as you want.”

“Thank you,” he said primly, and bit down on another forkful.

Osamu was still watching him. “I think you’re a little bit crazy.”

“Something tells me you’re used to crazy.”

“Does that something have bleached blonde hair and a propensity for trouble?”

“Yes, exactly.”

“Would you believe I was just as bad as him when we were younger?”

“I could easily believe that, yes.”

“Really? Tsumu would get a kick outta that. He always told me I was so righteous and pretentious.”

“He’s right.”

Osamu laughed and started eating, too.

\--

A dream was clinging to him on the second morning he woke up in Kyoto, and he immediately burst into tears.

Seemingly woken by the noise, Osamu scrambled to sit up beside him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I dreamed about Koutarou,” Keiji sniffled.

“Ah.”

“We were in Fukurodani, but for some reason the hallways were endless. I kept following him but he never turned back. I couldn’t reach him.” And wasn’t that the bitter truth? He couldn’t get a reprieve, even in his dreams.

A warm hand gripped his shoulder, and he was pulled into Osamu’s warmth; Keiji buried himself in it gratefully. Osamu guided them until they were lying back down, almost cuddling.

Osamu broke the silence. “Did it never occur to you to just...stop?”

“No,” Keiji answered honestly. “I would have followed him for the rest of my life. He was my star.”

“And now?”

“And now I feel like I wasted my whole life.”

“But your whole life so far led you here. Can’t be that bad, right?”

Keiji lifted his head to gaze at Osamu, studying his face in the dim morning light. Despite the tears clinging to his cheeks, he felt lighter than he has for a while. The dream was sad, but it wasn’t a nightmare; he still felt well-rested, and with Osamu’s arm around him, he felt comforted. “I guess it isn’t.”

“You should go back to sleep.”

That didn’t sound bad at all. Keiji nestled his cheek on Osamu’s chest shamelessly. “I will.”

The next time he woke, the tears were long dry.

\--

Perhaps the worst part of it all was how easy it was to decide to just let go. Nine years of waiting ended in a single night. He wondered, _should I have tried harder? Should I have fought for it?_

What was he supposed to do? Rip Koutarou out of Atsumu’s clutches? Yell and make a scene? That wasn’t like him, non-confrontational as he was. Instead, his cowardice had him running back home, hurt and scared and lashing out.

But now that he was thinking with a clearer head, he couldn’t help but wonder if he gave up too easily.

Not that he tried much at all. He had nine years to do something about it, and he let all the chances slip through his fingers.

Deciding to move on felt like a betrayal. Like he was turning his back on something that defined him.

“Who am I without Bokuto Koutarou?” he wondered aloud.

They were at Nara Park watching the deer gambol around, poking their noses at visitors. Keiji was too scared to come close to the animals, so they settled for watching from a bench in the meantime.

“Now you’re asking the right questions,” Osamu said.

“I just, I’ve known him so long. How could he not be a part of me?”

“There’s a difference between letting someone be a part of you and letting someone’s existence define you.”

“You’re coming really close to crossing a line,” Keiji warned.

“I’ll go all out then.” Osamu leaned in close, gaze calculating. “It’s time you stopped living in the shoujo manga you’ve created in your head and actually start living life.”

The slap rang out in the air between them, breaking the morning’s peace. Osamu’s head snapped to the side, cheek immediately reddening.

“I’m so sorry,” Keiji blurted out, realizing what he’d done.

Osamu cradled his jaw and let out a little laugh. “Why are you _apologizing_? I deserved that.” He faced Keiji once more, eyes twinkling.

“You were purposely antagonizing me,” he accused.

“I meant it though,” Osamu shrugged. “You’re more than a side character in someone else’s story.”

The words struck something deep inside him, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling. “And what would you know about it?” The moment the words left his lips, he realized that it was a stupid question.

“I literally have a twin,” Osamu pointed out. “He came attached to me the moment we were born. And we made a name for ourselves back in high school, but now we lead separate lives, you know? We’re a part of each other, but we have individual identities exclusive of each other. Can you say the same?”

Keiji was the one who dealt the blow, but he felt like he was the one who was slapped. “I’ll...have to think about that some more.”

“Take your time.”

“I _am_ sorry for hitting you. Truly.”

“There’s an easy fix for that.”

“Oh?”

Osamu presented his red cheek and tapped it with a finger, lips curled up in a small smirk.

Keiji’s ears went hot as he realized what he wanted. “What,” he spluttered, a tiny bit scandalized. “That’s —”

“If you say _‘improper’_ or something, I’m going to make fun of you.”

The nerve of this guy never failed to stun Keiji. Deciding to get it over with, he leaned in with a huff and pecked Osamu’s cheek. He leaned back swiftly. “There. We’ll never discuss this again.”

“Sure.”

Both of Osamu’s cheeks were red now.

And Keiji’s, too.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been steering away from the film since last chapter, but this is where I truly start to disengage

The days cruised past like a dream, so Keiji treated them as such.

It was liberating, being so disconnected from everything that defined his life. Aside from the ‘ _I’m back in Tokyo, gonna rest_ ’ messages he sent to his parents the moment he landed, he never bothered to check his phone. He had no idea what was happening in either Paris or Tokyo, and he preferred to keep it that way for a while longer.

“Aren’t people looking for you?” he asked on the fifth day of their impromptu travel.

“Sure,” Osamu shrugged. “Atsumu’s ballistic — he and the team are back in Japan, by the way — and normally I wouldn’t care, but he told our parents.”

“And?” he prompted, completely ignoring the fact that Koutarou was back to being a train ride away. He couldn’t think about that, not now.

“And now my parents are also ballistic.”

Keiji didn’t know what possessed him to say, “Let’s go, then.”

Osamu blinked. “What? Where?”

“To Hyogo.”

“Uh.” Osamu seemed to think that over, only to arrive at the same conclusion. “Why not? We've covered a lot here, haven't we?”

“Yes, I’m satisfied.”

In the span of five days, the two of them had visited temples in Southern Higashiyama, strolled through the bamboo grove in Arashiyama, explored the markets downtown, and taken a day trip to Nara.

Currently, they were in Kurama village, checking out temples again. Honestly, Keiji was getting rather sick of them. Hyogo sounded nice — he’d never been. There must be _something_ in the water there because how did the Miya twins grow up so well? Despite the ugly feelings he now harbored towards Atsumu, he had to admit the man was fine.

Although he personally preferred the gray-eyed twin.

“You know there’s nothing much there, right?” Osamu asked as they made their way back towards the station. “We’re better off heading to Osaka.”

“I’ve been to Osaka many times.” _To visit Koutarou_. “Hyogo, never.”

“Alright, then. I guess we’re going home.” Unexpectedly, Osamu winked at him. “Didn’t think I’d be introducing you to my parents too soon.”

Despite himself, Keiji blushed.

Something about that moment in the park in Nara had shattered the ice between them, and it was like someone abruptly shifted the gears.

Miya Osamu was a _flirt_.

“I can’t believe it’s Atsumu-kun who gets the playboy reputation,” Keiji grumbled as they reached the platform.

Osamu laughed at that. “Tsumu has zero game. Idiot has a one-track mind. Well, two now, I guess. Volleyball first, Sakusa second.”

“And yet he and Koutarou were kissing.” The memory stung, but it was easier to swallow now.

“Yeah, that bit doesn’t make sense to me, but that’s gonna come and bite him in the ass eventually. I’m certain of it.”

“Will we see him in Hyogo?” he asked warily.

“Yeah, probably.” Osamu pulled out his phone and started typing. “He should be there now visiting our parents. He’d be wanting to see me.”

Keiji was starting to regret his suggestion, but it was too late to turn back now. “Alright, let’s pack and go.”

They arrived back at their ryokan and set about preparing for their departure immediately. It didn’t take long at all for them to repack their belongings into their suitcases —both of them were apparently neat people.

That very night, they were on a train headed to Hyogo.

“Do they know I’m coming?” Keiji fretted.

“They do, relax,” Osamu soothed. “They’re really nice, promise.”

“I don’t want to be too much of a bother. Tomorrow, I’ll go back home to Tokyo.”

“You don’t have to —”

“No, no, I do. It’s about time.”

“Oh.”

Keiji chanced a glance at Osamu; he looked disappointed. Without thinking, he said, “We can always go on another trip next time.”

Osamu straightened up in his seat. “Oh?”

“Sure, if we survive this one.” What was he saying? This was unlike him.

“I’ll accompany you to your door to make sure we do.”

“You don’t have to do that, Myaa-sam.”

“I will anyway.”

Did he just make plans to go on another random trip with Osamu? Seeing the hopeful twinkle in Osamu’s eyes, Keiji couldn’t bring himself to take it back.

And something about the promise of another adventure made the thought of going back home more bearable.

Stepping out of his comfort zone, huh? Keiji thought he liked it.

\--

Keiji’s immediate thought upon meeting Osamu’s parents was, _‘Ah, they all talk like that.’_

He didn’t know why he was taken aback, because that only made sense — they were in Kansai, of course they’d speak Kansai-ben — but it was fascinating nonetheless, seeing traces of Osamu in his family members.

And of course the biggest similarities were the ones he shared with his brother, who was staring at Keiji as if trying to pick him apart.

“Dude,” Osamu finally said, midway through dinner, which was ramen. “You’re creeping even _me_ out, stop gawking.”

“Oh, _you’re_ creeped out?” Atsumu sent Osamu an astonished glance. “ _I’m_ creeped out! This is too damn random, like — no offense, Akaashi-kun, but what the hell are you doing here? Do you know Bokkun’s worried sick about you, wailing about how you’re probably dead? And you show up on the doorstep of our family home!”

Guilt flared up in him, followed by resentment. _Bokkun_. Cute nickname. “I would appreciate it if you don’t tell him where I am.”

“Oh, _now_ I have to lie?”

“You owe me this.” Because from what Osamu implied, Atsumu had known of Keiji’s feelings for Koutarou. _Did he know I was in Paris for a reason?_

Atsumu looked down at his meal, cheeks dusted with pink. “Fine, whatever.”

“Now, now, Tsumu. Be nice to Osamu’s friend,” the twins’ mother ordered lightly, looking a bit confused. “Akaashi-kun is more than welcome here. Just finish your food, dear, don’t mind these two.”

“Erm. Thank you,” Keiji murmured awkwardly. But the food was good so he focused on that.

Much later, Osamu led him to the guest bedroom. The Miyas’ house was spacious and traditional, but what charmed Keiji was the evidence of the twins’ childhood — there were photos hanging on the walls, lines drawn by crayons on the wooden flooring, not to mention the trophies and medals that sat on a shelf.

Even the guest room, bare as it was, felt homey.

He left Osamu puttering around and headed to the bathroom to take a shower, washing off the day’s travel off his skin. As he brushed his teeth, he was surprised to see that he looked more or less normal in his reflection. Did heartbreak not seep out of one’s very skin? He certainly _felt_ like a disaster.

By the time he returned to his room, Osamu was gone.

Keiji crawled under the covers, feeling rather bereft. But that was ridiculous. He should be pleased that he had space for himself again, right? Sure, he got a bit used to a solid warmth beside him in sleep, but that was only because he let himself seek it in his misery. It didn’t mean anything — he was just human.

His heart leapt to his throat when a knock on the door sounded. Springing up, he scrambled to the door to find Osamu there, fresh from the shower and looking cozy in pajamas.

Shifting from foot to foot, Osamu said, “I just came to say goodnight. Will you be fine here?” 

“I will. Thank you, Osamu-san.”

“The bathroom’s down the hall if…”

“I know. I’m good, Osamu-san.”

“And I’m just down the hall, door on the right, if you need me. Er, Tsumu will also be there — we’re back in the old room we shared — but I’m sure he wouldn’t —”

“Osamu,” he interrupted. “I’m fine.”

Osamu nodded. And nodded, and nodded. “Okay. Okay.”

Keiji nodded back. “Okay.”

There were a few seconds of truly awkward silence, tension falling around them.

Osamu stepped back. “Well — goodnight.”

“Wait,” Keiji said quickly, and Osamu halted. “The, um — the bathroom — who uses it?”

“Just me and Tsumu. Our parents have their own. Do you need anything —?”

“Oh, no, no. I was just...wondering.”

“Okay.” Osamu stared at him for another moment then turned around. “Okay, goodnight.”

Keiji was struck with the unexplainable feeling that he was letting a chance slip by again. In his panic, he called out, “Osamu—”

At the same moment, Osamu whirled around, stepped in close, _too close_ — and then everything turned to white noise as Osamu swooped in and pressed their lips together.

Keiji barely had time to react before Osamu was leaning back, eyes boring into his. Head clearing, Keiji felt a brief moment of panic — _what am I doing?_ — then he struck it down. Licking his lips, he stepped backwards into his room, pushing the door wider open.

It was all the invitation Osamu needed. Without further hesitation, he stepped inside and kicked the door shut, and in the next second, Keiji was pressed against the wall, being kissed within an inch of his life.

The touch of their lips sparked a whirlwind of relief and urgency, as the tension that had been building between them over the past few days reached fever pitch. Keiji clutched at Osamu’s shoulders and kissed him back with a ferocity that surprised even him. Osamu wound his arms around his waist and tugged, and they were falling, falling.

 _Is this what being alive feels like,_ Keiji wondered dizzily.

And then there was no more thinking as they tripped into bed together.

\--

Keiji stood on the platform, waiting for the shinkansen that would lead him home.

“You don’t have to come with me, you know,” he said, eyes fixed on the rails.

“I know, but try to stop me,” Osamu said.

Biting his tongue, Keiji merely smiled with heated cheeks. Why would he try to stop Osamu, when he wasn’t ready to let him go yet?

They were both avoiding each other’s eyes, faces red, carefully not talking about the events of the night before. Keiji did his best not to think about it, feeling as if he would combust at the reminder of how he’d acted.

The arrival of the train gave him a reprieve from his thoughts, and he eagerly went inside to find his seats, dragging his suitcase behind him. When they found their row, Osamu lifted his luggage to the overhead bin, and Keiji watched his biceps flex with the weight. Osamu slipped off his backpack and hoisted it up as well, before settling down beside Keiji.

“Wanna listen to some music?” Osamu asked.

Keiji smiled. “Sure.”

The ride was over two hours long, but the time passed by in a blink. Before he knew it, they were in Tokyo.

Osamu insisted on bringing him all the way to his apartment, and well, he traveled all this way just to drop Keiji off, he wasn’t about to send him away.

As he and Osamu exited the train station close to his neighborhood, Keiji breathed in the smell of home. It _was_ still home, with its bustling streets and busy people, and he relaxed upon seeing a familiar street.

Funny how he had to be away for three weeks just to miss it.

“Home sweet home?” Osamu asked, and Keiji didn’t know how to feel about the fact that he was apparently very easy to read.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I can’t wait to collapse in bed.”

Then his face burned when he remembered the last time he collapsed in _a_ bed.

Osamu cleared his throat. “Uh — well, remember we’re still off to another adventure one day.”

“I won’t forget,” he assured, still flustered.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“So when—” The rest of Osamu’s words were swept away by the panic that seized Keiji’s heart as he saw what was waiting for him at the entrance of his apartment building.

Or rather _who_.

“K-Koutarou?” he breathed out.

Koutarou whirled around, and the first thing Keiji noticed was that his hair was a mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it. The second thing was that he was carrying a bouquet of red roses.

“Keiji!” Koutarou nearly wailed. “You don’t know how worried I’ve been about you!”

The third thought that entered his mind was, _Atsumu didn’t keep his promise_. The timing was too perfect; the roses looked fresh.

The fourth was: _oh god are those for me, does this mean what I thinks it means?_

And he was...confused. The most confused he’d ever been in his entire life. “Koutarou, what — what are you doing here?”

His best friend hefted the flowers in his arms, taking a step forward. “Keiji, I want to talk to you.”

Keiji’s heart was pounding angrily, his stomach twisting itself into knots. He was scared, anxious, hopeful, and happy — _always_ happy to see Koutarou, he’d practically been conditioned at this point.

For what felt like an eternity, nobody said anything.

Then Osamu said, “I’ll — go. Um, here.” There was the sound of something hitting the ground, and Keiji could only assume that it was his backpack, which held the clothes they’d transferred in the Paris airport.

Keiji couldn’t look away from Koutarou.

“I’ll go,” he heard Osamu say again. There was a brief moment of hesitation, then the sound of retreating footsteps.

“Let’s get inside,” Keiji finally managed to say.

Koutarou carried the backpack as Keiji struggled up the stairs to reach his unit on the second floor. The air in his studio room was stale and chilly, so the first thing he did was turn on the heater. He parked his suitcase on a corner, shed his coat and scarf, and sat down on his desk chair, fiddling with his fingers.

“Well?”

Approaching carefully, Koutarou placed the roses on his desk. “Keiji, I love you.”

Keiji shut his eyes against the tears, the words shaking him to the core. This was everything he’d ever wanted to hear.

But it was all wrong.

“No, you don’t,” he said gently, opening his eyes so he could gaze at Koutarou’s determined expression.

“What? Of course I do!”

“I know you do. I also know you’re not _in_ love with me.” Koutarou opened his mouth, but Keiji cut him off. “Why are you here?”

“Because — because you ran off after seeing me and Tsum-Tsum kiss, and I didn’t get it at first, but Tsum-Tsum said you were probably upset! Because you like me! And I got to thinking…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t like when you’re upset!” Koutarou sombered. “And I don’t like that I’m the reason you’ve _been_ upset. I — Keiji, how long?”

What else could he do but confess? “Nine years. Koutarou...I’ve loved you for nine years. Since I entered high school, maybe even before. You were the reason I even applied to Fukurodani, you know.” It was a relief to finally say it, like he was dropping the last of his chains.

Wide gold eyes were boring into him in shock. “That’s...long.”

Keiji had to laugh at that. “Yes. Too long.”

“Well...you don’t need to keep waiting! I’m here now.”

Was it any wonder he loved him so? Koutarou was the kindest person he’d ever met, and so, so bright. He was a shooting star that Keiji was never going to be able to keep up with, and it was already an honor that he kept circling back to drag him along. Because Koutarou _loved_ Keiji, and wanted him by his side.

Just not the way Keiji _wanted_ to stay by his side.

Perhaps he’d known even then that it was impossible. Perhaps he’d been unconsciously protecting himself.

“Koutarou, why were you and Atsumu kissing that night?”

Koutarou rubbed his neck. “He wanted to _‘blow off steam_ ’ because Sakusa-kun turned him down when he asked him out, and I mentioned I’ve never even kissed a person before so...we just wanted to try it.”

There was too much to unpack in that — Keiji made a mental note to revisit that later. “And then?”

“And then nothing,” Koutarou said seriously. “I didn’t like it, Atsumu couldn’t go through with it, he went back to his room to mope, and I...thought. About stuff. And I realized, you, me...it would be nice! Right?”

Nice, huh? Maybe he was still stuck in the shoujou manga of his dreams, because he yearned for something more than nice.

Keiji stood up and walked slowly towards Koutarou. “I’m going to do something — don’t move, please.”

“Okay...”

He hesitated when he was close enough, suddenly terrified. Nine years. Nine years of wishing for this moment. Keiji never thought it would happen this way, but he had to know. They both deserved to know.

Closing his eyes, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to Koutarou’s lips. He let a beat pass, then another. _I wish we could stay like this forever_ , he couldn’t help but think. _I love you, Koutarou._

Then he pulled away. “Well?” he croaked out.

“I liked it,” Koutarou assured. “I told you, Keiji, I love you.”

All Keiji wanted to do now was break down and cry, but he couldn’t do that to Koutarou. Instead, he pulled all the courage he had left in him for the final blow to completely shatter his own heart.

“There are all kinds of love in this world, Koutarou,” he said sadly, ruffling black hair with streaks of white. “This is not the love I’ve been wanting from you. And that’s _fine_. Because the love you give me is more than enough for me. I would never ask for more than you’re able to give.”

“I can give more!” Koutarou protested, feathers ruffled. “But you have to _let_ me, Keiji.”

“Are you saying that because you really love me, or you feel guilty for hurting me?”

Koutarou clicked his jaw shut, looking confused.

“No, they’re not the same thing,” Keiji said before he could ask. “Koutarou...I forgive you. It was never your fault that you couldn’t love me that way.”

“But…”

“Thank you for the flowers. They’re beautiful. I’ll put them in water.”

“Keiji…”

He dragged his gaze up to meet Koutarou’s sad eyes. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay.”

Koutarou deflated. “Promise?”

“I promise.” Keiji smiled. “I love you, Koutarou. And I’m letting you go.”


	5. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay this is...very much not how the film went. This part was my old outline for osaaka titled 'love at second sight'

Osamu fell in love at first sight with the boy across the net, but the boy only had eyes on his star. The boy was Akaashi Keiji and he was clueless about his own gravitational pull, oblivious to the effect he had on the people around him.

“Something catch your eye?” Atsumu asked, gaze already locked on Fukurodani’s setter, because he was smart when he actually used his brain.

“Maybe,” Osamu said.

“Ask for his number,” Atsumu advised.

“I just might.” He wasn’t as shameless as his twin, but he was far from shy either.

Osamu managed to corner Keiji right before the Fukurodani High School Volleyball Team boarded their bus. “Fukurodani’s setter?”

Keiji blinked at him, startled. _Cute_. “Miya-san…?”

Osamu knew he couldn’t tell which twin he was, and he wanted to change that. “Name’s Osamu.”

“Okay?”

“I just, I thought, maybe you— we—” Ah, fuck.

“Akaashi!” Bokuto Koutarou yelled from halfway inside the bus doors. “C’mon let’s go, you still have to set for me when we get back, remember? You promised!”

Just like that, Keiji’s attention was stolen completely. Before Osamu could say another word, he was walking away.

“Smooth,” Atsumu said, coming up from behind him. “Try again next time, I guess.”

But Osamu had already decided that there was going to be no next time, because he knew what lost causes looked like.

Although as years passed, he could have _sworn_ Fukurodani’s setter was sneaking glances at him sometimes. Whenever Osamu tried to meet his gaze, though, his attention had already returned to Bokuto. Must have been wishful thinking.

And well, a high school crush was just a high school crush, no matter how long it lingered. Life ensured he had no time to dwell on it, although he did think of him from time to time, fondly dubbing him as the one that got away. Osamu had never hoped, never made any plans to change the situation. But he’d forgotten that life liked throwing curveballs.

When he saw Akaashi Keiji again in a place that promised endless new beginnings, he knew it was his one chance. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was a stroke of luck — he didn’t care, he was willing to thank all the gods for it anyway. All he knew for sure was that he was no longer that awkward kid who failed at something so simple as getting someone’s number. When Akaashi recognized him right off the bat, Osamu couldn’t help but feel a spark of hope.

But this Keiji was tired and heartbroken and needed something else from Osamu. He wasn’t ready, wouldn’t be ready for quite some time.

 _Do you think it’s silly?_ Keiji had asked him. _Me being in love with someone for nine years?_

“Almost as silly as me for being unable to let go of a stupid crush for nine years,” he muttered to himself as he washed the dishes in the kitchen. He’d just closed up Onigiri Miya after a busy day — winter always drove people indoors just to escape the cold.

He couldn’t help but smile sadly at the memory of last year’s winter. It was barely a week of unexpected encounters and adventures, but he felt like he was forever changed.

_What have you done to me, Akaashi Keiji? You were just supposed to be a cute boy I used to see every once in a while._

He still wondered, sometimes, if walking away from Keiji and Bokuto that day was the right choice, but he always hit the same conclusion: it wasn’t his battle.

Keiji was no longer a boy; he was a man. And he was his own star.

“Just call him, you have his number now,” Atsumu said as he lounged by the counter, lazily studying Osamu as he stepped back out, drying his hands. His twin was a goddamn leech; Osamu fed him thrice a week, never even charging him. He should. It was a mistake, putting up his shop in Osaka. Why didn’t he stay in Hyogo?

“I can’t do that,” he replied. “I told you, Bokuto-kun —”

“Came back to the Jackals’ sharehouse _alone_ , on the same day, looking extremely sad. He never talked about it, and I’ve never seen Akaashi since then — come on, you can’t be this stupid, Samu. They’re not together.”

“Yes, and Keiji must still be sad over that.” _I can’t just wake up and decide one day not to feel a certain way anymore,_ Keiji had said _._ “If he wanted to see me, _he’d_ call. The ball’s not in my court, alright?”

“So what, you’re just waiting? It’s been over a _year_. Scratch that, how long has it been—”

“You’re one to talk,” he cut in. “Remind me again, how long did you pine for Sakusa before finally making a move?”

“But I _did_ make a move, and it was a mess, but we’re together now so —” Atsumu poked his tongue out at him. Osamu resisted the urge to grab a knife and chop it off.

“How’s that, by the way? You and Sakusa-kun.” He was amazed as anyone when the two did manage to get together, shortly after the debacle in Paris. Apparently, Sakusa had gotten jealous after hearing about Atsumu and Bokuto’s failed tryst, and _‘stopped lying to himself about his feelings for me — I knew I was irresistible, I told you, Samu!’_

Osamu honestly thought the two idiots would crash and burn, but what do you know — they’re still going strong after a year. Gross.

“Good,” Atsumu said. “I’d bring him home some food, but he said if he had to eat another bite from Onigiri Miya, he’d puke and break up with me.”

“Maybe if you tried feeding him something else for a change...”

“He’s too damn picky.” Atsumu waved his hand. “I’ll deal with that later. What are you gonna do about your _Keiji_? All this waiting is boring me.”

“Shut the hell up. And I’m not waiting exactly, just…” Osamu paused. “I dunno. Stalling. I don’t _know_. Leave me alone.”

“I would, but you’ve been moping since winter started. I know you’re remembering him. Why do you think I’ve been here so often, even after matches? I could be resting with Omi-Omi right now, but _no_. I’m here keeping _your_ dumb ass company.”

“Well, I never asked you to. Go away, I’m closing up shop.”

Atsumu sighed heavily. “So ungrateful.” His twin stood up and stretched, slowly making his way to the door. When he reached it, he turned back. “You know, you’re supposed to chase after things you want, instead of waiting for them to come to you.”

“I _know_. But that isn’t the case here. Just trust me, alright? I’m _fine_.”

“If you say so.” And then Atsumu stepped out, braving the merciless cold.

Osamu did one last sweep across the shop, checking if appliances were unplugged, if faucets were firmly shut, if the trash had been taken out, if the entirety of the place was clean.

He was about to lift a chair onto the table when he heard the door open.

“Tsumu, I told you to fucking leave, ya damn _parasite_ ,” he sighed.

“Is that how you greet potential customers?”

And Osamu dropped the chair back on the floor, the familiar voice effectively freezing him in place. The sound of wood crashing on wood echoed through the empty shop.

He was too terrified to turn around.

“Well? Aren’t you going to tell me to get lost, too?”

It was the vulnerability in the tone that had Osamu whirling around to see Akaashi Keiji standing by the entrance.

“Keiji,” he breathed out.

And there was that smile that haunted his dreams. “Hi, Myaa-sam.”

“How many times do I gotta tell you —”

“Osamu, I know, I know,” Keiji chuckled. He started strolling over casually. “I ran into Atsumu outside, he told me, ‘ _Took you long enough_.’ I must say I agree. How are you?”

“Good,” he said, for lack of better things to say. He was having a bit of a hard time thinking right now. “Uh — you?”

“Good,” Keiji said earnestly. “Better than ever, actually.”

“Good,” Osamu said again inanely. He greedily ran his eyes over every inch of the man in front of him, and saw that he was being honest — Keiji looked well. He was all bright eyes and glowing skin, free of the dark circles under his eyes and the shadows on his cheeks. He looked _healthy_. And more beautiful than ever.

And he was standing right in front of Osamu, finally having reached him.

“Hi,” Osamu said.

“Hi,” Keiji smiled. “Didn’t you promise me a Tokyo branch?”

Osamu shrugged. “It will happen, but not for a while yet. Still a lot of steps before I could get there, but it’s a medium-term goal.”

“So we’re talking, what...a year?”

“Or so, yeah.”

“Perfect.”

That had Osamu frowning. “Perfect?”

“Yes, perfect. Glad to see my transfer here to Osaka wasn’t in vain.”

The world seemed to stop. “Transfer…?”

“Our manga company has an office here. It’s only years-old, not very settled yet, and it has lots of openings. I applied to move.” Keiji searched his eyes. “You were right, I needed a change.”

“And the actual work…?”

“Still an editor. I realized...I _do_ love my job. I learned to love it. I don’t want to return to being a writer because I outgrew that already, but there’s more for me to learn. I can still grow.”

Keiji truly was the kind of person who would bloom where he was planted. And maybe it took him a while, but he knew when he needed to change soil.

Osamu has never been more grateful that the new soil was in Osaka. “You’re here to stay?”

“I’m here to stay.”

“And Bokuto…?”

“Still my best friend.” Keiji didn’t look very upset about that, and fresh hope planted its seeds in Osamu’s heart. “Just my very aromantic best friend — he figured that out recently. He tried to ask me out, you know.”

“I figured.” But aromantic? Atsumu failed to tell him _that_. 

“I said no,” Keiji informed him. “I just — I knew he couldn’t love me that way, I just didn’t want to accept it. And it took a while before I could even bring myself to speak to him again but...we’re good. I’m good. I just needed time.”

The hope was taking root now. “And now you’re here.”

“And now I’m here. I promised you another adventure, didn’t I?”

Osamu smiled slowly. “You did.”

“And you still want to?” Uncertainty was starting to color Keiji’s voice again and Osamu couldn’t have that. Keiji could doubt anything in the world, but this was the stupidest thing for him to second guess.

“I definitely want to. More than anything. Shit, Keiji, have I not made myself clear yet? I’m fucking crazy about you, goddamn.”

Keiji blushed, and god, he was gorgeous. “Well, it’s not like you contacted me at all the past year.”

“I was waiting for you! You took your damn time.”

“I’m sorry, okay?” Huffing, Keiji stomped his foot lightly. Osamu didn’t even realize people did that outside of _movies_. He was hopelessly charmed. “I just needed to heal first; you deserved more than half of me. I’m sorry I kept you waiting."

Osamu’s heart was racing with all the implications and possibilities. He blinked hard, trying to wake himself up — surely this was a dream.

Arms wound around his neck and a warmth pressed itself against his front, telling him this was real as anything. “Myaa-sam?”

“I — yes. Okay. It’s okay.” What was he saying? He was getting lost in the endless blue of Keiji’s eyes.

“It is? You forgive me?”

“I mean,” Osamu recovered, “I’ve waited years for you already, another year was nothing.”

Keiji paused. “How many years…?”

“Nine years,” he smiled. Then he paused. “Well, ten now. Nice number.”

“Ten.” Amazingly, Keiji laughed. “No way…”

Osamu hugged him around the waist, lifting him a little. “What, you don’t believe me? Guess I’ll have to prove it.”

“You simply must. It’s a little too hard to believe that my high school crush had a crush on me, too.”

“Now I _know_ you’re lying.”

“Fine, perhaps ‘crush’ is overstating it a little...but I thought you were really cute and funny.”

“But I wasn’t _trying_ to be funny…”

Keiji laughed again. It was Osamu’s new favorite sound. “That was so long ago now, I can’t believe it.”

“You were the one who said nine years felt like a long time, but like no time at all.”

Keiji gave him a funny little look. “Do you remember everything I said?”

“Every word.”

“I remember everything you said, too. And you said it’s time I should stop living in the shoujo manga in my head and actually start living life.”

Osamu smiled sheepishly. “Right…”

Keiji jutted out his chin. “Well, I’m here to tell you that I _won’t_ stop creating shoujo mangas in my head, but this time I’m my own protagonist. But you’re welcome to join me, if you like.”

“So long as I’m the leading man.”

“Well, of course. And as my leading man, you know what you should do first, right?”

“Sweep you off your feet?”

“You’ve already done that,” Keiji dismissed, unmindful of how Osamu’s heart just melted to the floor. Did he _know_ what he was doing to him? “If you must know, you’re supposed to ask me out on a date.”

“Ah.” Ossamu was grinning in triumph now. _I got this, right? God, tell me I fucking got this_. “Then, will you let me take you out to dinner sometime, Keiji-san?”

“I would love that.” Keiji kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s go now.”

\--

Osamu fell in love with a boy at first sight, but it took a second crossing of paths for the boy to fall in love with him right back.

The boy was now a man, and looked wholly content to be looking at Osamu.

“You ready, love?” Osamu bent down to check their suitcases one last time. He’d been careful about measuring the weight of their luggage, even going out of his way to use a scale, because he wanted to avoid a repeat of the Paris Airport Incident. He didn’t know why Keiji insisted on overpacking, but he was willing to suffer through it. He had lots of space for Keiji’s excess baggage anyway.

Keiji bounced on his toes, a little too well-dressed for a long flight, but he’d never be caught dead looking less than proper. He liked dressing up. Even better? He liked dressing up for Osamu. “I don’t know, am I? Do I look okay?”

“Perfect, as usual.” Osamu's only job was to appreciate and admire, and he did so each time. He felt a little heated, thinking about Keiji's more...adventurous endeavors. _I’m one lucky motherfucker._

“Then I’m ready.” Keiji grinned at him, blue eyes bright and clear and unburdened.

And Osamu knew that he meant it. He held a hand out, smiling when Keiji took it with no hesitation.

“Can we take a kissing photo with the hot air balloons in Cappadocia?” Keiji asked.

“Of course.”

“And during the cruise?”

“Yes.”

“And —” The words were lost in the kiss Osamu pressed to his lips.

“Anywhere and anything you want,” he assured. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

Keiji shouldered his backpack, adorned with MSBY Black Jackals-themed pins. There was even one of Atsumu. “Okay.”

As they wheeled their suitcases out of their apartment, Keiji asked, “Samu, can we take photos at the —?”

Osamu couldn’t help but laugh, happiness bubbling up in him and overflowing. Keiji liked to purposely annoy him this way sometimes, but didn't he know it only endeared him to Osamu even more?

This was the man Osamu had daydreamed about for ten years, and he was even better than he’d imagined. Time was a funny thing — things had a tendency to go topsy turvy, like Keiji’s nine-year yearning for Bokuto.

But sometimes, things went really, really right.

Ten years, huh? That was nothing compared to a lifetime.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they live happily ever after. Yay thanks for reading!
> 
> (This was the quietest fic I've ever done...omg osaaka gives me peace...)

**Author's Note:**

> I went completely crazy after seeing that light novel art of them and feverishly wrote this in a couple of hours. I want to take my time with the rest of the story so you get this first chapter for now! This will be pretty short. Three chapters maybe. And yes..I know... I have ongoing sakuatsu fics...I’m also writing them DON’T LOOK AT ME


End file.
